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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26288959">Watching</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshtart/pseuds/freshtart'>freshtart</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wynonna Earp (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:47:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>419</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26288959</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshtart/pseuds/freshtart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Post S04E06 fic - spoilers for same. Doc deals with his distance from Wynonna the only way he has ever known how.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wynonna Earp &amp; Doc Holliday</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Watching</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He wouldn’t be back. Of that much, at least, she was sure. As Doc disappeared quietly from her home, Wynonna knew it was the last time she would see him.</p>
<p>But he saw her. Keeping far enough from the Earp house not to be noticed, but close enough for his vampirically-enhanced vision to track individual movements through the window’s glass. Below the clear, crisp harvest moon, burning bright and white in the darkened heavens, he watched. Under an assault of icy-wet sleet pelting his hat and battering his face like buckshot, he watched. Beneath a moonless, star-filled midnight, with frost on the tips of his moustache, he watched.</p>
<p>Always beneath…below…under… as his chest, under the weight of her absence, and as any good in his nature longed to sink into the dirt and be buried, forgotten without her. She was right there, nearly within his grasp, but so far out of his reach as to be untouchable. The pain burned in his chest like Bulshar’s ring.</p>
<p>He saw her head, dark waves falling forward like a curtain around her face as she bent over a bridal magazine with Waverly, trying to feign interest in the debate over lace vs. satin. He saw the whisky bottle she lifted to her lips, again and again, until nothing remained. And he saw the emptiness in her eyes she did not bother hiding as she stared into the abyss, not knowing he was there. He told himself she would not have cared, even had she known; she had never tried to hide herself from him, most likely knowing it was futile. She knew he saw her then, saw her as she was and loved each broken piece.</p>
<p>Once or twice, he let himself wish that she were peering out into the dark, searching for him, too. But he could not dwell on those thoughts for long. The sleeplessness was not worth it; he could not bear the long days, tucked up in the trees, if his arms were untenanted, his chest tight for want of her.</p>
<p>And so Doc stood watch for Wynonna, as once he’d done for her forebear, and would do one day for their progeny, and then their descendants, and so on, until the last Earp or Holliday was enjoying their eternal reward. Then, and only then, would he himself would take his rest. Until then, his guns stood ready to defend the ones he loved, and he stood on the perimeter, outcast once more.</p>
<p>Waiting. Wanting. Watching.</p>
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